Plagued: The Rock Island Zombie Counteractant Experiment (Plagued States of America) by Better Hero Army Page A

biter snarled and shook at his restraints again and Chavez stopped, letting Mason walk through the cell alone. “We’re not the Hilton,” Chavez said and started for the other cell.
    Mason turned his back on Chavez. Doing the job right didn’t take that much more effort. As his father would have said, it takes more effort avoiding work. It made Chavez’s laziness even more irritating.
    There was a sudden and loud clank behind him. Mason tensed, nearly jumping in fright. Then he took a deep breath and said “funny” over his shoulder as he turned, expecting to see Chavez laughing and asking something like “jittery?” as he dragged a noose pole along a cell bar, clanking it once just for effect.
    Mason’s heart clenched tight like a fist. A gaunt face stared at him, plump eyes bulging with need. The noose stretched the loose skin around its neck toward the pole raking through the cell bars as the zombie lurched one more step closer. Mason’s surprise and disbelief shed at the sight of the unlatched restraint. It still trapped one of the zombie’s arms against its chest, latched to the turned pole. The other arm was free.
    The blankets in Mason’s arms fell to the ground. The hand latched onto Mason’s shoulder. Mason threw his left arm in the air to knock it free, but the biter’s cold, boney fingers held as though stitched to his shirt. Mason reached his other hand for his pistol too late. The biter took one more step and pulled at Mason. Decaying breath moaned over him, a soupy blend of rotten fish and curdled milk assailing Mason through its bared teeth that seemed determined to find flesh. Mason tried to step back but his foot caught on the lip of the bed pallet.
    The zombie pushed forward and they both plummeted to the pallet. Mason wedged his arms between them a split second before striking the ground. The impact jarred his senses. The zombie’s body sagged over Mason with the unwieldiness of an enormous sack of flour. The zombie’s head gave a hollow whack against Mason’s forehead before bouncing off. Mason’s arms were the only thing keeping its teeth at bay. He drove the zombie up to elbow’s length, leaving it perched above him, dripping its saliva and hissing.
    Mason turned his head. The biter let go of Mason’s shoulder and instead grabbed the back of his neck, pulling itself closer. With the zombie’s weight over him he couldn’t reach his pistol. Mason kicked his legs to turn his lower body sideways.
    “Help!” Mason yelled between his struggling grunts.
    The zombie pitched slightly to Mason’s left. Mason’s forearm slipped across its chest. In a second it would slide off him, he realized. He extended his forearm to help it along, rolling to his right and pushing the thing away. It fell on its side, its hand still hooked to Mason’s neck.
    “Hang on a second,” Mason thought he heard Chavez calling, his tone one of annoyance.
    Mason started to roll. The biter’s hand slid from Mason’s neck. Mason pushed against the biter’s chest with his left arm to lift himself free. The biter grabbed his wrist with its other hand. Instead of turning and rolling away from the biter, it yanked Mason back like a dog on the end of a leash.
    The bite landed square on Mason’s upper arm, digging into the exposed flesh of the bicep.
    “No!” he screamed and rolled toward the zombie to keep it from ripping the flesh with its teeth. The pain seared the length of his arm. With his other arm he grabbed the thing by the back of its head and pulled it closer, jamming its face into his arm, driving its nose flat. He knew he couldn’t wrench the thing off without tearing loose a hole in his arm. He knew that it wouldn’t be able to bite through if he could push against its mouth. He also knew he wanted to kill the thing by ripping its head off and beating the skull on the ground until he, himself, died.
    He’d been bitten.
    He pulled harder, crushing the biter’s head in a hug as he continued to roll